Toyin Onabowu
The morning air was heavy with grief, and the trees on Rectory Avenue bowed, as though recognising the transience of mortals. Matilda Fields mopped her face with a sodden handkerchief. ‘He’s gone to a better place. He is at peace, isn’t he?’
Her rheumy eyes sought solace Pastor Rob was unable to give, so he patted her arm and watched her hobble past with other mourners.
Her grandson, Joshua Clayton, was a seventeen-year-old sociology student who woke up one morning with a headache. Vicious and merciless, the tumour ate away at the boy and destroyed the faith of those around him. It’s not supposed to end. Not this way! Rob wanted to yell to the pallbearers as they hoisted the coffin onto their shoulders; but he was powerless. Nothing he’d seen or experienced had changed the inevitable.
LOLA WILLIAMS’ EYES swept round the cemetery, taking in the row of graves surrounding Joshua Clayton’s. Testimonials to unfulfilled years and curtailed destinies. She brushed away another stray tear. She could not stay another moment without thinking of…. She turned to leave and spotted the mother of the deceased, supported by her husband and remaining son, being comforted by Brother Larry Sanderson, another church member. ‘See you tomorrow, Lola.’ Larry acknowledged her approach with a pointed nod, and moved off towards Pastor Rob.
Lola lightly touched Mrs Clayton’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry…’ The inadequacy of her words hit her. What was she about to say? He was a wonderful boy? I don’t understand why this happened? There were no words. She pulled the woman into an ineffectual hug, then bit back a sob and watched the devastated husband lead his wife away. It was time to leave.
Lola took in the bank of freshly occupied graves, each crying out for a headstone of identity. She glanced over the gravestones of those who once lived: Alex Hill, Sharon McCoy, Derek Jacobs, Sheba Patel; their names the only reminders of their former existence. She sidestepped a marble monument belonging to one Audrey Findlay. It seemed even the clouds gathered to pay their respects as sunlight gave way to mist. As she moved towards the parked cars, Lola pulled her coat tighter around her to shut out the pre-spring chill, then slowed her steps. A man stood left of the graves before the cemetery gates, his expression inscrutable, his features like granite behind sunglasses. The sun framed him like a halo, reminding Lola of a sci-fi movie she’d once seen.
An unfathomable magnet drew her towards him, but as she approached, the man turned and left. Lola squinted into the distance. He wasn’t a familiar face – certainly wasn’t at the earlier service. Neither were many of the people she could see now. She looked around, spotting others conferring in groups of two’s and three’s, appearing quite detached from the sorrow that brought them together. She sensed… something. Where had they all come from? Who were they? And why didn’t anyone else notice them? THE FOLLOWING EVENING Lola pulled up in a taxi outside the Sandersons’ driveway. The slight drizzle began to wane as she stepped out, paid the fare and slid through the open front door where the party, surprisingly crowded for six o’clock on a Friday, was in full swing. Her first thought was to head back out the door; to heed her original instincts to be anywhere except at Larry and Miranda’s house-warming.
‘Hey everyone, it’s our resident journalist!’ Someone shouted from the far end of the room, followed by a welcoming roar from the rest of the crowd. Lola forced a smile; struck by the disparity between the orchestral strings of Handel’s Messiah, and the hip-hop/pop loving people who stood in small groups, drinks in hand, trying to be heard above the cultured, stirring music pouring out from invisible speakers. She often forgot how many volunteer church workers were at the Renewed Life Christian Centre until gatherings like this.
The Sandersons were long serving members of Lola’s church – even longer than the senior Pastor, from her recollection. Larry Sanderson had been Finance Deacon, and on the board of Elders for years, dating back to the unimaginable days when the congregation numbered thirty, mostly old, prayerful women. His hold over the church board was autocratic, to say the least, and had resulted in many clashes between him and Lola during her three years at the church.
She stood under the arch in the large hallway and peered through the press of bodies into the living room, which she could not help admiring the well-blended touch of old and modern. The room was tastefully painted in an understated white and deep purple, brightly lit chandeliers hung from wooden beams and swirling damask curtains framed the large bay windows on her right. To her left was a dining room, equally spacious, and just as crowded. Lola spotted her housemate in the bar area at the end of the lounge, and cut through the crush, nodding an occasional greeting to those she recognised. ‘Great way to spend a Friday night.’ Lola said, placing an order for an Apple and Mango Juice drink. Cass, her housemate and best friend, shook her head, her hair settling in tangled, wavy strands around her small face. Small and feisty with it, Cassandra Morrison-Blake was a pale imitation of her usual self tonight, for reasons Lola understood too well.
Cass sipped at her drink. ‘Not where I want to be after the day I’ve had, either, but Brother Larry wouldn’t forgive me. He waylaid me with a special invite.’ ‘Same here. I spent the afternoon wandering round Stratford Town Centre, trying to take my mind off the Claytons. Tonight is the last thing I needed. Couldn’t he have postponed his party?’ More to the point, where were these people during Joshua’s funeral? Lola had butted heads with Larry Sanderson enough times to realise he would take it personally if she didn’t honour his olive branch invitation after their latest clash of wills. ‘Is Emma here?’
‘She’s got her usual dinner date tonight.’ Cass said, with a faint frown. She was referring to their other housemate’s dreaded fortnightly dinner engagements with her mother. Lola nodded. ‘Let’s do the rounds and leave as soon as decently possible. There’s Edward. I’m going over to say hi.’ ‘You go on, I need a word with Melissa.’ Cass said, and hurried off in the opposite direction.
Edward, the Music Director at The Renewed Life Christian Centre, known to its members as RLCC, stood against the wall beside the marble fireplace, dressed in a deep-green striped shirt that would make anyone else look like a six-foot watermelon, but made Edward look like he belonged on the cover of GQ magazine. ‘You look about as relaxed as my jolly self, skulking in a corner.’ Lola told him. A wry smile altered his frowning expression. ‘It’s not exactly been a good week. I don’t do well with funerals followed by parties.’ Another victim of Larry’s badgering.
‘How’s Emilia?’ she asked, knowing he had gone round to the Claytons’ after the funeral. A shout of laughter from the middle of the room drowned his response. The frown above his brown eyes deepened, and Lola, following his line of sight, saw Cass pushing her way past a group of people. Edward tensed, then returned his attention to Lola. ‘Emilia? As to be expected, I suppose.’ ‘All this merriment seems a drastic contrast, don’t you think?’ ‘Life goes on.’ Edward, as usual, would not be drawn into commenting on the goings-on. Lola wished he’d come up with a quote she could use. More church members would listen for sure, if people like him contributed to her articles.
‘There’s Larry. I’m going to make my excuses. I’ll see you on Sunday.’ Edward moved off before Lola could say anything else. She stared after him for a moment, then made her way towards Cass, who looked uncomfortably like she needed rescuing from a robust discussion about the cost of getting on the property ladder. ‘It shouldn’t come as a surprise to the financially savvy.’ Harold Barnes, the Youth Pastor was saying. ‘My portfolio is approaching the two million mark, and I’ve started looking into properties in Romania and Bulgaria.’
‘Homebuilders’ share prices are just the ticket right now.’ A prematurely balding man in his late forties added. Miles Avery was firm friends with Harold, and both, along with Larry, were part of the Church Board. Others around them nodded as the two men doled out wise words, gleaned from a recent seminar. Lola felt her jaw clench and loosen at their insensitivity. Didn’t they care that a well-loved church member was gone? Harold, in particular, should be ashamed of himself, for not bothering to attend the funeral, she decided, and opened her mouth to say so.
Cass must have sensed her brewing anger, because she grabbed hold of Lola’s arm and moved towards the door. ‘I’ve spoken to Brother L. He understands that we’ve had a difficult day. Let’s go before you show these guys what you’re capable of.’ She grabbed their coats and they were on the other side of the front door before Lola could catch her breath.
They began the short walk to the city centre. The Sandersons lived on a quiet street in Ilford, but it was within walking distance to the centre of town. As they approached the one-way system, Lola noticed that the nightlife was buzzing. Young and old mingled together in their search for variety; dance and jazz clubs rubbed shoulders with swanky restaurants and take away joints. ‘I know exactly what my next article’s going to be about.’ Lola said, the bracing air easing the pot-pourri of feelings she’d been carrying around all day. Ideas were forming in her mind, as they did whenever she got stirred up like this.
Cass gave her a look filled with doubt. ‘You should take it easy, Lola. You know what you can be like when you’re on the warpath. Let things calm down for a few days. People still haven’t recovered from your attack on Brother Larry and the finance ministry three weeks ago. And I can't help thinking last week’s edition won’t endear you to many of them either.’
‘They need to know, Cass. We’ve got to stop playing at this thing.’ ‘I’m already in your camp, my friend.’ Cass raised her hand to flag down a passing black cab. ‘I’m just asking you to go slowly.’